The 'Harry' Adventures of Efia

Keesha and I have been all over the map since my last post. When the intrepid adventurers last checked in  we were in Akwatia trying to figure out our next move while the IRB finalized their approval for the study. We ended up finding out that official data collection date was on hold until Monday (yesterday), leaving us five days to play with.

We spent an afternoon at Kade market a few miles North of Akwatia. We were toured around by a young girl named Fransisca that we met at the apartment—she wound us through the wooden stalls housing sellers and their goods in crooked rows along dirt isles. Between piles of yams, yards of gorgeous hand died fabric traditional to Ghana, and of course the perquisite goat or two running loose, Francisca showed us treasures like the wooden tub and mallet used to mash fufu, giant snails good for roasting (shish-kabobs!), and a cold cocoa drink served in plastic baggies with straws sticking out, bought for 5 peswaes from kids running around the market with buckets of treats balanced on their heads. Wednesday morning, bright and early, Keesha and I were out on our street to attempt our first tro tro trip back toward Accra. Given our newly granted mini-vacation, our plan was to spend a few days at the beach and then a few days in Accra, where Keesha wanted to celebrate her 21st birthday (which is actually today!). The vague plan was to get a tro tro to Asamankese, a town about 15 miles from Akwatia in the direction of Accra, and then to find a tro tro headed either to Kokrobite or Accra. In Ghana, all roads lead to Accra, or so it seems, so the prospects of getting a ride out of Akwatia weren’t bad. By 7 AM we were in a tro tro Asamankese bound. In Asamankese, where a busy and aggressive market lines the main road, our tro tro unloaded and after a few “Obrunie obrunie where are you going?” and me answering “Accra” we were directed to the line for a tro tro to Accra. A tro tro pulled up, and we were signaled to get in first though we were clearly at the back of the line—one of the many times on the trip in where I really couldn’t tell if I was being treated differently because I am white, had crutches, or was being ridiculed or taken advantage of. I’m pretty sure we had a solid mix of all three going at various points. We piled in… fairly sure we were going to Accra, and vaguely hoping that when I asked the driver “Barrier junction” and he said “yes, yes” that that meant we might be dropped at the junction to Kokrobite. Either way we had secured a ride! A point for the travelers!

Our driver took a different route into Accra than the one we’d traveled before. This route featured a lot of beautiful hilly jungle scenery and skirted several large towns in greater Accra like. Keesha and I were squished into the first row of seats behind the diver, with our knees pressed up against the metal sheeting of the floor boards in front of us, making room for the 30 or so other passengers in the small van. The van made good time, and only caused me to grab Keesha’s arm and see my life flash before my eyes a few times. Poor Keesha, she was fairly traumatized by the trip, though I can’t say it was much different than I expected. In one of the large town near Accra, major road construction was being done to continue a nice road we’d traveled on for 10 or so miles. In America, in order to do road work, we construct an elaborate paved alternative routes. Not so in Ghana—I mean, the whole point is to pave the original road! The road work diverted traffic off the road onto dirt paths surrounding the construction in tiers, a lane or two going one way or another, then a step up a few feet and another dirt tier with more traffic. It seemed that traffic was going both ways on the tiers, but not in any order, as everyone is trying to avoid giant pot holes, and just get through the few miles of construction. There were times both leaving and getting to Accra, where we were the only vehicle on a particular tier going in whatever direction we were going—all the other cars were coming toward us. Ya know the cop shows where the bad guy goes the wrong way on the highway in a car chase? Kinda like that. But no worries mom, I’m alive and well to tell about it! All day it had looked like a storm, just before hitting Accra after 3 hours on the tro tro, the wind went Wizard of Oz, and the second we stepped out the sky opened in a torrential downpour. It made for a rather grumpy traveling duo, but after getting our bearings (as we were dropped in an area of town we didn’t know… definitely not at the junction the driver had said ‘yes yes’ too) we got back on track to the beach.

We attempted to go to a different town on the beach called Bojo, but discovered that it was a ritzy tourist day-destination with no place to stay and complete seclusion from anything beautiful beach that cost 5 cedi just to walk on—it was completely barren in the rain following the thunderstorm. Down on our luck, we paid a taxi driver a fee exceeding our combine fare by tro tro all day, to take us and my crutches a few miles down the road to our stand by beach spot, Kokrobite. My new Ghana “Happy Place”. We stayed at Big Milly’s Backyard where 26 cedi a night bought us a room with a double bed, mosquito netting, and an attached open air hideaway for showering by bucket. We happily stayed two nights, reading and walking on the beach, playing with the menagerie of adorable feral kittens, searching for sea shells, enjoying the bar and failing to apply enough sun screen. Though my shoulders are likely to be peeling until we leave, and my bum will have the outline of my bikini bottoms scorched into it for months, spending time on the beach was worth it. We met a few Brit’s doing great charitable work, got to play in the sand, and cleared our minds of the frustrations of waiting to get started on our research.

Friday morning, we headed back into Accra, where we crashed at the hostel and I ventured out for my first night on the town in Ghana. Keesha was geared up to celebrate her 21st, so along with fellow MHIRT students Jennifer and Ella, we hitched a ride with some medical students to a karaoke bar in Accra called Champs. Inside we found an entertaining mix of Ghanaians and foreigners, dressed up and clamoring to belt it out on stage. The enthusiasm was intense—I’ve never seen people dance with that much vigor to karaoke music! The medical students that drove us bought the table a round of ‘Obama’ shots for their new American friends (absinth and amaretto) spurring us on to sing, and make sure to taxi home rather than riding with them! Ella and I picked an American karaoke classic- Journey’s Don’t Stop Believe… we made it through, and made the cultural revelation that Journey isn’t really a karaoke classic in Ghana. You learn new things everyday eh?

We capped off the weekend by scouting out cake to finish off the birthday festivities. The oven at the hostel doesn’t work, and most ‘cake’ in Ghana is flat, as attributed to the general lack of ovens I suppose. I found a store bought cake with the help of a newbie at the hostel, Nicole, an MPH student from Brown who is here on her own doing TB research at Korle Bu. We stuck a few matches in the top as candles and called it a success… despite the fact that the round-about off-road taxi ride home from finding the cake took so long that all the icing melted off into the box. Hehe. All the same it was delish!

Sunday morning we set out for Kenashie market in hopes of locating a tro tro back to Asamankese. I was lugging my crutches and Keesha had a load of groceries to restock us in Akwatia. Through the maze of blocks and blocks of wall to wall traders and tro tros, we traipsed back and forth, following directions from tro tro solicitors— I’d say “Asamankese?” and they would consult one another, or tell us with certainty, that tro tros headed in that direction could be found across the pedestrian bridge, or on the road down the way, etc. After a few dead directions—us showing up at the indicated spot, and then promptly being told to turn around—one trader told us we needed to take a tro tro to circle market to get a tro tro to Asamankese. I thought Keesha was going to punch the guy, but somehow we kept our frustrations to ourselves, amazingly found a tro tro to Circle, using the sign language parsed from glancing at a guide book (in Accra circle station is indicated by rotating our hand with fingers pointed down, as if around a ball), and from circle, only traded hands a few times before finding a tro tro to Asamankese. Ten points for the travelers! The system of tro tros is really quite amazing—as far as I can tell, they are independent entities, yet their location of pick up and drop off at major stops is relatively well known by those who work the system. In all honesty, it would be harder to get from one place to another in the rural states. Imagine wanting to get a bus from Alaska Michigan to Brighton. That would be a nightmare! You’d definitely need a car for parts, or a map, but here, where individual transport is an extreme luxury, the public transport that has cropped up may be a bit round-about and hairy, but it can get you anywhere!

We’re now safely back in Akwatia. Yesterday and today we had our first real days of data collection. Hooray! So far no major glitches, we have heaps of women to interview—far more than we anticipated getting, and it looks like we’ll end up with some interesting information to show for it. Though most of the women don’t share as openly as one might be used to in the states, what the women have shared has been really interesting so far. Today the clinic started a bit late, so Doris, our main translator, was teaching us more Twi. I’m essentially hopeless at languages, but I’m trying! Today’s lessons included a review of “Hi my name is” “How are you” “I am fine” and a few other small words. When the women came in we’d try out our Twi (phonetically) “Akwaaba ma’ma/autie, tenasi. Me den-dee Halley.” And then “Wa-hun-ti-sane?” – “Welcome ma’am, have a seat. My name is Halley” “How are you?” Ta-duh! I actually think that greeting them in Twi, and the laughing that incited, did a great job of breaking the ice and making them comfortable—works for me!

In Ghana, everyone has a given name, and their Ghanaian name which is determined by the day of the week you were born on and your sex. I was born on a Friday, which makes me an Ah-fee-ah (Efia), whereas if I was a male I’d be Kofi. Anyway, Doris is starting to call me Efia as she really struggles with Halley. Though she’s heard my name a bunch she’s convinced my name is Harry (Harriet?) and causes Keesha to bust up laughing by saying, Harry, Harry!

That’s all the news that’s fit to print. Time to transcribe some of our interviews 

Much love,
Halley/Harry/Efia